Dancing in the Faint Light
by chronicwhatcles
Summary: She falls asleep in his arms, tears streaking down her cheeks, choking on her sobs. [CL]
1. Chapter 1

She's too tired.

Tired of everything. The longest engagement in the universe, almost as long as those two kids on The Office, most of all. He couldn't be there for her. She asked him to marry her and he said yes, but he should have said no because that's where it was headed. They weren't getting married. He turned her down when she wanted to do it quickly, get it over with. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that an engagement shouldn't be like this. She should be happy and excited, but she wasn't. She made up excuses to _not_ see him.

Was it horrible that she was relieved when finally, after practically a year, she had called it off? A weight had been lifted from her shoulder, and she had gone to the one place she had always knew she could find solace.

His almost-as-blue eyes widen in surprise when she arrives at his door, rumpled and deadened. Tired out.

He leads her in, asking no questions. He knows her well enough to know that she doesn't want to talk. Instead his hand finds the small of her back, grazing the blue silk of her camisole, guiding her to the couch. She shook her head, finding her way to his bedroom. She'd ask where his daughter, his other daughter, is but she's too preoccupied.

He doesn't lean in to kiss her, doesn't try to force anything. She curls up in a ball at one side of the bed and sinks into the pillow, her body frail and weak. Azure eyes blur with tears, dark hair tangling under his hands as he lay beside her, wrapping an arm around her and stroking her hair. She falls asleep in his arms, tears streaking down her cheeks, choking on her sobs.

…

Morning and she doesn't recognize where she is – unfamiliar beige tones surround her, too neutral to be anything she's ever decorated. She expects sea foam and is handed sand, expects her fiancé's steady chest rising and falling next to her and finds that it isn't.

He is still asleep, an arm wound around her waist, still in his collared shirt and tie from work. She rubs her eyes forcefully, bruising, and it all comes rushing back.

Over.

She untangles himself from the grasp that intoxicated her as a teenage. Her fiancé had never held her like that. He stayed on his sides, set up boundaries. She couldn't crash them down, no matter how hard she tried. They destroyed them, the walls closed in. She found a coffeemaker and some crappy store-brand mix but figured it was better than nothing, dumping the whole bag into the filter and sitting at the small table in the stark kitchen.

The light blinded her. It was too white in here.

The coffee burned down her throat, absolutely terrible but comforting nonetheless. She was still in her skirt and top from last night, wrinkled and horrible. A throbbing headache was attacking her temples, a caveman practicing its swing with its club on her head.

All too soon he materialized before her, wrinkled and horrible. Just like her. Equals. He sat across from her, taking her coffee and taking a long drink, grimacing at the taste. His eyes were penetrating for he knew her all too well. He asked to know what happened, said he deserved to know what happened. What could make her grow so weak and come to him, him of all people, the breaker of her heart many years ago, and fall asleep in his arms, weeping.

She said he knew he deserved to know but didn't want to talk about it. He glared at her and she sighed, standing. He did too, looking down upon the top of her head. So many things he could have done, wanted to do. She was it, he had always known. There were too many things in the way.

He let her leave.

**There will be more, probably, because I have lots of ideas swimming in my pretty little head. I'd like to know what you think, though. Keep in mind that this was written in about fifteen minutes when I had a spur of inspiration after seeing the preview for the season finale. Enough of my mumblings. Hope you all liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

She hates being babied like this.

She's always been stronger than this, stronger than how she's been lately. She hates having people fluttering around her, trying to protect her. Sookie won't let her work, and Rory is home from finals. She's been sitting in the same position on her old, crappy couch for a week. She's been eating only Caesar salad for that time because she refuses to go to the diner, and refuses to let Rory go.

Monday. She stands and tells Sookie that she's fine, she's going to work. She has to. She can't stay around, swimming in a deep pool of tears and thoughts. She doesn't like crying, or thinking. Both are unhealthy for her. For anybody.

_He_ has called her a few times since she left his apartment. She hasn't answered. Somewhere in the back of her head, the good part, something tells her to answer. That he can only help. That he only wants what's best for her. He had been her best friend for so long, right? Not anymore. He destroyed, unknowingly, her engagement with Max. He destroyed her relationship with Luke the first time.

This time she did the destroying. She bailed…again. She got scared again, she ran again. Running was always what she did the best.

This time he's there to pick up the pieces.

…

She readies herself for something bad to happen as her fist takes on a life of its own, beating on his door for the second time. He answers again and this time takes her hand, pulling her in. This times she ask where the no-longer Devil Child is. She's at school, he answers, and she wonders why she didn't put two and two together. He sits her down on his couch and just looks at her.

It's almost enough to make her cry again.

She bows her head and tells him about the next broken engagement, about the end of what she had thought was finally it. His hand is on her shoulder, massaging gently. Loaning comfort. She needs it.

He listens, his eyes narrow and alert. He wonders who could be an idiot enough as to not marry her as soon as possible, when it was right there in front of him. She's finished talking and tears are coming again, a rainstorm of momentous proportions.

If tears were jewels, she was sure she'd be worth millions.

He hugs her to him, whispering no words of comfort. There's nothing he can say. She's heartbroken and he doesn't know how to fix it. Instead his arms are there, strong and protective. She pulls away, feeling silly, wiping at her eyes, mixed with the blue he knows so well and the red of tears. Very patriotic, he says softly and a small smile breaks through, a laugh overcoming her tears. He likes her when she's laughing. She's beautiful when she's laughing.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's far too close to her. Her lips are there and suddenly his are too, melding together in heat. Salty tears have dripped to her lips and now his too, and it's bliss for the shortest moment in history.

Because she's pulling back and looking at her lap, thinking it's too soon. Saying it's too soon. He sighs, hating to put her in this position. She doesn't leave this time, though.

He puts on a U2 CD, because he knows she loves Bono and he can always make her feel better, and she falls asleep, this time on his couch.

He watches her for a long time.

**) More thoughts, anyone?**


End file.
